Voices
by GiraffeGirl
Summary: The Doctor suffers from voices in his head. But not just any old voices... oneshot, Rose10.


With every regeneration I've gone through, I've always found myself haunted by my previous incarnation. Even more disturbingly, I keep finding myself thinking thoughts alien to both of us; the thoughts that belong to a future me. The only moment when I feel truly myself is when I regenerate. In the very moment when I become something else, I become more like who I really am. My thoughts are a mixture of everything I've ever been and everything I ever could be. And you humans talk about conflict!

Most of the time it's about balance. A balance between the old me, the new me and the future me. The new me has to win out eventually, and sometimes it's very easy. When instinct kicks in and takes over, I let it. Running, that's instinct. It's when I'm left to ponder something that it all becomes a bit complicated.

Every time I look in Rose's eyes I can see the question. Right in the centre where all her pain and loss and betrayal is deeply buried and concentrated in one point, it is hidden away, invisible to everyone, unless you know where to look. It's the same question she asked at the time, the one that has been following me around ever since. _Why her?_

It's a very valid question, and one that I have come to expect from her. Why, out of all of the women who have ever lived and ever will live and ever could live, why out of all the choices I have did I choose her? I mean, I've always been a bit of a fan of the eighteenth century; so much better than the nineteenth. Much less smog for starters, and much more decadent. Suits my new self far more than the Victorians. They really were _not_ amused. And France is also a bit of a personal favourite; they know how to have a good time. But even so… out of all of the women in the world, in the universe… why Madame de Pompadour?

_Like you don't already know the answer._ Here he is again, invading my thoughts with that Northern accent of his. It's a shame I couldn't have had an accent this time around. I've always quite fancied Welsh.

If I already knew the answer, I wouldn't be asking the question, would I?Yeah, Rose is right; I am quite rude this time round. And sarcastic.

_But it's pretty obvious._

Well, I suppose… she is educated, and well-read and My God can she dance!

_Don't you mean, was?_

Ah. Yes. Was. I hate talking about things in the past tense. Or anything apart from the present tense really. Because ultimately, with the TARDIS, everything is now, isn't it? Nothing has been set in stone, nothing has been finished. And the past tense makes everything sound so stale and complete and dull. And dead.

Whatever. What I'm saying is, she's intelligent and well-read and cultured and regal.

_Good craic too._ What on earth? Oh, it's him. The future me. Hmmm, I've never really considered being Irish. That could be interesting. But I do wish he wouldn't butt in on me when I've already got my head full with number nine.

_Plenty of women have done more though. What about Joan of Arc, or Florence Nightingale? What did Reinette do that was so wonderful?_

She made the king very happy.

_Oh good. I'm so pleased for him._

Ah so sarcasm isn't a new thing. And Rose always acts like I was such a sincere guy before now. Last time I'll listen to her.

_Be honest with yourself. You thought she was good looking._

Well obviously. She was. Is.

_She's dead._

_So are you._

Madame de Pompadour was dead. I had to accept that sooner or later. Death is the one thing that means the end of a Timelord. We can't meddle with things like that. Rose knew that now, I'd taught her that. I had to live by the rules I preached.

_But it wasn't just all of that, was it?_

What do you mean?

_Reinette wasn't just beautiful and witty and educated and well-read and good at dancing and intelligent and cultured and well-read. _

I would never use the word _just_ to describe any of those attributes.

_There was something more to her than that wasn't that? That was why you chose her._

I'd hardly call being sucked through a fireplace into her bedroom choosing her. It just so happened I was there.

I suppose… I suppose that her knowledge of me helped.

Because after all, who of us can resist someone who knows us better than we do? She's the one person who has ever seen beyond the façade, and looked into who I really am. She's seen more than just the wandering Timelord, and how amazing is that?

_I'm not talking about that._

Do you always talk in riddles?

Rose says I'm hard to follow sometimes. That I talk in riddles and don't finish sentences and talk too fast. After this bloke, you'd think she'd be grateful for me!

_I'm talking about her life. And death._

What?

_You knew she died at forty-one, didn't you? We both did. You knew she died young. And you knew you could leave her behind, young and perfect._

Shut up.

I reach for a book. He doesn't know what he's talking about. That's the problem with these remnants of old incarnations; they think they know _so_ much more because they've seen it all before. They get a bit muddled up with their own importance. Sometimes it's better just to ignore them.

_You can't get rid of me that easily._

You think this is easy?

_You knew she couldn't come with you. You knew –_

How could I have known? I thought I was trapped!

_Come off it. What did we tell Rose we could see?_

I think you'll find it was _you_ who told her.

_We see everything; everything there ever has been; everything that will be; everything that is; everything there ever could be. _

You should make a song out of that.

_You knew you'd get out of there. Without Reinette. Convenient, wasn't it?_

That isn't how it was at all. When I told Reinette to pack a suitcase and choose a star, I meant it. I meant it the same way I told Rose to come with me, and the same way I'd wanted Sarah-Jane to come. I don't say things unless I mean them.

_But strange how the one woman you've ever loved was conveniently from eighteenth-century France. Long since dead. Unable to hurt you anymore._

And that's where he's very very wrong. He of all should people should know how someone can carry on hurting you long after they're dead. Reinette trusted me, believed I'd come back for her. Till her dying day she believed in me. And I let her down. The one woman who had ever understood the real me, and I'd let her down. How could I ever forgive myself for that?

_So you didn't choose Reinette because she was the impossible dream?_

_Shut up._

* * *

Rose's eyes are a funny colour. Greeny-brown. Muddy water if you were being cruel, but I'm trying not to be so rude these days. They're so dark sometimes that her pupils are hidden. Unless you know where to look. And I do. And she's hidden another part of herself away there, even more buried than her other question. Tangled up in dreams and heartbreak, lies a raw and painful question. To everyone else it's silent and unseen. To me it screams out, pulling at both my hearts. _Why not me?_

Oh Rose. Rose, Rose, Rose. Don't do this to me.

_Do it to you? What about what you're doing to her?_

Rose, you know if I could, I would. You can't ask me that question, you don't want the answer.

This is your fault you know.

_Mine? How?_

You started this with her.

_You've hardly fought her off._

It's not like Rose throws herself at me day after day. She never oversteps the line between friends and… something else. We hug and laugh and tease each other mercilessly. We run and fight and travel the universe together. But that's it. That's all it can ever be.

_Is that why you kissed her then? _Do you see what I mean about the confusion?

I'll think you'll find that was you.

_Oh. Yeah. _

One point to me, no points to… well, me.

_But that was necessary! I saved her life!_

I never said you didn't. But you've made her believe a lie.

_So are you saying she should have died instead?_

No!

Life without Rose… that would be hard to deal with. She's become part of my life, almost as vital as the TARDIS itself. I love the way she looks at life, the way she has such an air of innocence around her still. Her naivety. Her smile. Her laugh. Even her sulks. They're all part of her, and she's part of all this, part of the TARDIS and me and the universe. Without her… nothing.

_And yet you chose Madame de Pompadour?_

You know why.

_Because you're scared. You're scared of feeling something for Rose, your companion, your plus-one, your friend._

It wouldn't work. It would kill her.

_Kill her, or kill you?_

It was like I'd told Rose before. The curse of the Timelords was our eternal life. So I could live forever, but Rose would die. She could spend the rest of her life with me, but I couldn't spend my life with her.

_That would be enough for her._

And me? What about me?

_Ah, so it _is_ all about you!_

The Doctor isn't supposed to be selfish. He is supposed to be willing to sacrifice himself to save the world. It isn't like I'd die anyway; just regenerate. Into an Irish man apparently. Weird. But ultimately my job is to protect others, even if it means destroying myself.

But being selfless is tiring. Always thinking of others, always considering them first. I try hard but sometimes I can't help it. I don't want to watch Rose grow old and die in front of me. I don't want her to have to lose her youth and beauty whilst I stay the same. I don't want to watch our children and grandchildren all die. And I don't want to be alone.

_So that's it, is it? You'd rather break her heart than break your own._

To be fair, I'd suffer twice as much.

_You're lonely now. What's the difference?_

Once you've tasted love…

_Don't start quoting nineties pop songs!_

What is the difference indeed? If I'm lonely now and being with Rose stops that for a little time, surely that's better than being lonely forever. But is that fair on Rose? To be used to entertain me for fifty or sixty years?

_She loves you. She'd die for you. She's proved that._

She deserves better. She shouldn't have to die for me.

_She's the best thing that ever happened to you. The best thing that ever will._

You don't know that.

_But I do! I lost my chance. Don't lose yours._

Rose pokes her head around my bedroom door. Her hair's wet and has turned a dark blonde colour. She's forgotten to take her mascara up before she gets in the shower again and it's trickled down her face.

"Are you talking to yourself again?" she asks, grinning.

I've been speaking out loud. What an idiot. "Yeah, I am."

She shakes her head laughing. "You really are crazy, aren't you, Doctor?"

I nod my head. Rude. Sarcastic. Crazy. How could she ever love me?


End file.
